


To Seek Safety

by Smile_More



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bombing, Dramatic change, Forests, Freedom, Freedom Fighters, Gun Violence, Metaphors, Muslim - Freeform, Nature, Nature Walk, Racism, Refugees, Shooting, Similes, Sinking boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smile_More/pseuds/Smile_More
Summary: Walking past the blooming tree I imagined watching it flowing with blossoms the very next day. I was wrong. Shots fired.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	To Seek Safety

Trudging through the woods, I caught my breath becoming mist as it fled from the safety and warmth of my body, the leaves were crushed under my feet, as if I were extinguishing a flame. I observed a small river, rushing over the rocks, polishing them till they shone in the spring daybreak. I speculated on the ordinary phenomenon, that this seemingly insignificant stream would soon develop into a lake. I walked on, jaunting through the river, sending ripples through the water. I looked upon the trees, roots six feet under, I observed, imagining, envisioning. It was budding, a morsel of colour peeking from its dappled enclosure, in a few days it would be flowing with blossoms, I expected to walk through them the very next day. I was wrong. Shots fired.

I remember the rag doll that sat on my bed at home, I remember the way my lamp flickered in the dark and the way the bombs rang in your ears hours after they’d finished, though they never really finished. I know the way the ceiling creaked in the wind and the windows rattled in the gunshots. I recall the way we played in the road and how we cried when we heard screaming. When our house burnt down we left to seek refuge. We walked for months; my shoes skinned my feet until we entered a city of tents. Later, we followed another exile to a perilous looking boat, every shift caused it to sway, as if palpitating. Around me was a massacre of bodies from previous capsizings. I clung to my mother for comfort, but I clung to familiarity even more. When we arrived we were housed and cared for, but people looked at us in a bitter manner, I didn’t understand. But now, I hear them, I hear when they say that our foreign tongues are built of alien cells, twisted and forked like a skinks; but theirs are daggers disguised as petals of valley lilies. We arrived to reflexual animosity as if a fabric drape on our heads makes us a barbarian; as if darker skin meant that terrorism ran in my blood and al-qaeda were my bones. They whisper as if my hijab covered ears can’t hear. With every word I speak, no matter what language the cultural barrier between us builds higher, taller with every move. Familiarity slips through my fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this doesn't really fit with the rest of the work on this website, but it's something I'm proud of that I thought others might like to read.


End file.
